


If Only To Take Your Pain

by heyselene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Crying Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean shows emotional vulnerability with Sam in the room, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, IKEA, LATER, Love Confessions, M/M, Meatballs, Sam Winchester Fixes Things, Sam is a Saint, Self-Harm, Sick Castiel (Supernatural), Sickfic, crazy!, eventually, i will add more later, ikea meatballs, not explicitly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyselene/pseuds/heyselene
Summary: When Castiel discovered he was able to redirect emotional suffering, he was at first ecstatic. Not only could be of help to Sam, but he had discovered a way in which he could be of use again. Even if he wasn't welcome home in heaven, he could do as much for humanity as he had once taken pride in doing.--In which, Castiel is too Angel to pick up on human signals, and Dean is too stubborn to voice his emotions clearly. Aka, me trying to work out 15 seasons worth of relationship kinks in a way that still allows the boys to stay in character.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be longer than I am used to writing. We'll see if I have the ovaries to finish it. I will post everything I've got so far once I figure out how to make chapters. Ha!

When Castiel discovered he was able to redirect emotional suffering, he was at first ecstatic. Not only could be of help to Sam, but he had discovered a way in which he could be of use again. Even if he wasn't welcome home in heaven, he could do as much for humanity as he had once taken pride in doing.

For Cas, the hardest part of being away from his family was the recognition that he wasn't of service to mankind like he had once believed he was. And he wasn't like Gabriel or Balthazar, he couldn't just forget that he had once been a vessel for good. It was shockingly freeing when he first tried to take some of Sam's pain. The way the cloud swarmed to him instead, the way the color returned to Sam's cheeks. The way the hurt tangled Castiel's chest and made his head pound. It was a sick rush that felt almost like touching a human soul, in a sick, twisted way. 

In Cas' defense, he had always been a bit sick and twisted.

In Sam's case, the pressure of Lucifer was too much for any human to bear. Castiel could handle it. It wasn't as though Cas didn't deserve to take it on either. It was his fault that Sam had been forced to suffer so much.

When he finally had room to think, to breathe, to rationally be aware of his situation, he was eager to find a moment to grasp at some of the sufferings that drifted around Dean.

The trouble was, Dean wasn't a stupid man. He was quick to notice a sudden change, and would not likely fail to notice something like what Cas had done for Sam. Using that magnitude of grace would take obvious concentration, and Dean would also likely notice a change in how he felt once the murkiness was cleared up from his soul.

To Dean's defense, the soul wasn't polluted with the dark heaviness that Castiel had seen around those who were consumed by evil but rather muted with the things he had faced.

Castiel was determined to brighten it— something he would have done long ago when he had sucked Dean's soul out of hell, had he known how to do it. It was this determination that played through his mind during most quiet moments. He knew that he would need a plan that involved dubious action, but imagined it would pay off.  
The time came in a prayer from Sam. Cas was in a motel room in Fort Wayne, Indiana in an instant, racing heart relaxing as he heard Dean's full laugh.

Despite the laughter, Sam was kneeling behind Dean on the bed trying desperately to stop the bleeding on a large gash on Dean's torso. He had a yellow-with-age motel towel held up against, putting pressure on the wound which Cas could even see poking from the side.

"A clown Sammy! A clown. I swear to god, how many fucking clown cases are we going to get this year? It's like we're in some TV sitcom," Dean chortled.

"I really hope this was our last clown case ever, Dean," Sam said grumpily.

"A clown?" Cas grumbled.

"Heya Cas," Dean noticed him, blinking in happy surprise. His eyes sparkled with post-hunt adrenaline, something akin to the rolling high of good fortune, or the look Dean often got when he was driving his Impala on a fresh stretch of road.

"Yeah, it was some guy who left a confusing will. Brought back the dude who left his birthday-party-entertainment business to his two kids who work in real estate now," Sam explained, looking carefully at Dean's side.

"Fucker wanted to make sure someone carried out his legacy!" Dean's laughter roared a little, but he winced as it jostled his side.

Dean, roaring with laughter? Dean, in need of some healing? Cas' heart began to pound. This was the moment.

"Sam, let me heal that," Cas spoke to Sam instead of Dean, hoping that would alleviate the blow which healing often seemed to have on Dean's pride.

It seemed to work, for Dean slid forward, peeling away from the towel Sam held slightly and offering a gaping wound to Cas' outstretched hand. Cas frowned, trying to act as though something was incorrect.

"This doesn't look great. It might hurt a bit when I heal it," He said slowly.

"That's fine, I've probably had worse," Dean glanced up half-heartedly, an eyebrow quirked but barely caring.

Sam shook his head in exasperation as Cas brought his hand to the edge of the wound and began to piece it back together. At the same time, he willed the faded spots of Dean's soul to let up a little— pushing an angelic dish-soap to cut the grease of it.  
Left with bubbles, and getting to the scarring stage on the wound, Cas quickly tried to hurry the process, moving the fading to his own entity with very little problem. Years of Dean's guilt and discomfort slithered into Cas, seeming to make a home in his chest. They curled and buried themselves in his heart, and Cas clenched his jaw to try and stop the little whimper of sadness that rose to his lips.

Dean sucked in air as Cas finished, his eyes bright in a way that Cas wanted to see all the time.

"Thanks man," he said, his hand coming up to rest on Cas' shoulder, a gesture which was unusual for Dean, but well received by everyone else in the room. Cas forced himself not to lean into the warmth of Dean's calloused palm.

"No problem," Cas murmured, his voice thick.

-  
The day after was hell. Castiel was violently sick, the emotions he had accepted apparently making themselves known as physical symptoms. He was achy and freezing, his head pounding to the point where he couldn’t string together intelligent thoughts. He threw up a whopping six times in his trash can, and only left his room in the bunker for a bottle of water. He was glad to have avoided Sam and Dean that day. The human body’s reaction to foreign substances truly was awful. 

Cas spent the next few days with pneumonia-like symptoms, coughing, chills shuttering through him, and sharp pains in his chest. He could tell he had a fever because he desperately wanted to get out of his button up. He cooped himself up in his bed and tried to meditate in order to start getting through some of Dean’s emotions more quickly.

The thing about taking on Dean Winchester's emotional suffering was that it wasn't so much as the magnitude, but the contents that caused Castiel pain.

When dealing with Sam's memories of Lucifer, it had mostly been the grunt work of getting through a vast amount of turmoil at the hands of a cold, impersonal entity. Lucifer had been angry, evil, and had no one but Sam to direct it upon. Sam knew in his heart that Lucifer was the devil, it did not feel fair to Sam that Lucifer had tortured him. He was aware that the pain caused to him had been irrational and terrible.

But with Dean, it was, well— personal. Cas wasn't sure why he expected Dean to be rational, but for whatever reason, he anticipated well-adjusted emotions. 

Dean always seemed so certain about how he felt and who he was. His quippy dialogue and stony exterior created the assumption that Dean had a clear understanding of the things he felt. Cas expected Dean to feel sadness over those he had lost. Guilt, yet acceptance over the things which he regretted. All humans felt that. Cas would be the first to claim that Dean had made mistakes, but the last to hold back on forgiving them.

But what he found was a collection of— in Cas' opinion— incredibly unnecessary self-deprecations. Dean felt responsible for Sam's unease with life, responsible for not seeing the apocalypse sooner, responsible for letting those around him die, even when he had no hand in it. He felt as though it was his luck that got them into this, every time. His big-mouth, bow-legged, over-confident, kind-hearted, disingenuous, gorgeous, rash and uncaring self that left the people he cared about left in bad spots. 

—Castiel had to walk himself back through that rush of feelings as he deciphered what of those were Dean's ideas, and which of them were just Castiel's. In the end, he had to hold himself back, sometimes physically bite his tongue, when he noticed Dean feeling this way.

It helped that Dean had been relieved of some of the emotional pain, there was a new bounce in his step. He took fewer cases, slept longer hours and laughed harder, even when the jokes were B-side. Sam noticed and seemed to follow in suit, his grins lasting longer when he realized that Dean seemed... happier. Cas tried to help indirectly, sneaking his way into redirect Dean's thoughts with the knowledge of how he may be feeling.

So when Dean ran a hand through his hair after losing a lead because the vampire took off in a snap, Cas touched his hand and carefully spoke, "There was no way anyone could have caught him, vampires are faster than humans, remember.”

Dean's brow softened, and Cas repeated a similar sentiment when Sam was in earshot to try to get him to relax a little more.

And when Dean grumbled about Sam not pursuing a woman because he didn't want to risk her getting hurt, Cas spoke up again.

"Sam, it's not either of your faults that your lives have taken this path. Your pursuit of helping others leaves you deserving of things that are good. If a woman is willing to put herself in harm's way because she loves you, you should not stop her. Besides, perhaps you can live a life that walks the line, like the two of you have dreamed up for you”.

Dean's lips were parted in surprise and wonder, and Castiel had to shake his head and blink to get his own attention away from that part of Dean's body.

One bit of guilt that surrounded Dean drove Castiel almost to madness. The bit that was associated with Castiel himself. Guilt over Cas' decision to leave heaven. Guilt over all the times Dean had needed Cas to heal him. Guilt over his desires to touch Cas. Guilt over leaving Cas behind without saying goodbye, or kicking him out, or not saving him soon enough. Guilt over all the times Cas had died, and how Dean had never held him long enough when they were finally reunited into an I-thought-I-lost-you hug.

Things Dean would never mention, or even hint at, but yet still lingered around him with ferocity. 

At first, the wave of guilt made Cas a little bit sickly glad. His heart celebrated to know that Dean did feel something about all the times he left Cas behind. Dean did feel ripped up and guilty, just like someone should when they threw a friend under the bus. To Castiel, this affirmed that Dean cared about him. 

Then, Castiel supposed he experienced anger. How could Dean feel this way and simply choose not to inform Cas? For how long had Dean sat there and stewed in this pain, this self-loathing without informing Castiel when Castiel was sitting right there. Did Dean’s heart clench painfully whenever Cas entered a room? Did Dean’s words catch in his throat all of the times that he pretended it wasn’t a big deal for him to be putting Castiel in danger? Who was Dean to pretend like this didn’t affect him when the things he was feeling were so important for Castiel to know? 

Castiel felt angry that Dean hadn’t approached anyone to discuss it either. He worked through this anger with the realization that it made sense Dean felt this way. The number of times that Dean simply assumed he would be bait, the number of occurrences where Dean seemed impossibly unaware that his life was worth more than he thought— it made sense that Dean just allowed himself to drown in guilt without dragging it into conversation like his brother might. Castiel wondered whether maybe Sam was the more adjusted of the two, and snorted to think that the younger brother had been the more mature all along.

What it boiled down to, was two emotions that Castiel didn’t realize could mix together so flawlessly. The first was desperate sadness. Castiel was sad that Dean Winchester didn’t think he was deserving. He was sad that Dean naturally tucked all of these thoughts and feelings away. It hurt to think that had Dean voiced these feelings, Cas could have so easily quelled them. So quickly explained to Dean that he was so worth everything. It hurt Cas also to think that had Dean made the things he felt more apparent— had Castiel been well versed enough to read Dean’s body language, and understand the underlying meanings to his words, that Cas could have understood what was happening in Dean’s mind all along. That maybe Castiel himself could have avoided so much pain and hurt, and simply loved Dean in the way which he was designed to.

The second was love. Pure, unhindered adoration for this man. For all of the good which Dean possessed. Cas saw himself in all of Dean’s burning desire to do good. Castiel was floored by the selflessness contained in one human being, the way which Dean refused to take for himself, even when he was so deserving.

Something had to be done about this, and that terrified Cas a little.

This is what he was left with: sadness and love, and next to nothing on the bright-ideas-list of what to do about it. 

So naturally, he asked Sam.

“Sam?” He approached him as he was sitting at the War Table eating a post-run breakfast. Dean had gone over the weekend to deliver some ingredients to Jody, who was trying to untangle a witch mess that Claire and Kaia had gotten themselves into.

“Hey Cas,” Sam said, looking up from his computer and spinach, cheese, egg white toast, “Sit.”

Cas took a seat across from Sam and looked at his food with interest. Since things had become more balanced in their lives, and less end-of-the-world, Castiel had been working on expanding his cooking abilities. It was partially a tactic to spend more time around Dean. There was something about Cas’ inability to chop onions and a mistake of paprika for cumin that made Dean light up. And Dad knows Cas would give up his grace to see Dean lit up like that all the time.

“Sam… I’ve been trying to figure out something,” Castiel began.

“Uh-huh,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes at Cas, “Is everything ok?”

“Yes, of course, all is fine,” Castiel replied hurriedly, “It’s just— complicated. I have been trying to decide how to approach Dean about—”

“Cas, I don't know what Dean said but if you need anything I am certain he would be willing—“ 

“—About his feelings” Castiel finished.

Sam blinked. Then he leaned back, setting his silverware on his plate, and letting out a disbelieving laugh, “No wonder you’re asking.”

Castiel huffed and let out a little smile at that. He truly did love Sam as well, they had been basically brothers for years. Their mutual love for Dean helped them to understand each other more than they would care to admit. And all other people aside, Sam Winchester was a genuine and intelligent human being. Cas felt lucky that these were what Gabriel would call “his people”.

“What exactly… are you going to ask him about?” Sam questioned.

Cas supposed he should come clean about all of it. It would be hypocritical for him to feel anger over Dean’s self-sacrifice when Cas himself has been wandering down this path of taking on other’s suffering as well.

He took a deep breath and tried to decide where to start, “Do you remember when I took on Lucifer after you came back from hell?”

Sam nodded, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. He shuts the screen of his laptop quietly.

“I was, of course, glad to do it for you, make no mistake. In fact, I found it quite— helpful in learning more about my ability to take on human suffering. I’ll admit that I often find myself missing the missions that heaven commanded of me. I find it very rewarding to be of use to others.”

Sam smiled at him, “You realize you still do that, right? Protecting people from danger, being of help to Dean and I, you do more good than you know. And now, you get to choose the good you do as well.”

Cas blinked. Coming to Sam was definitely the correct decision. 

“You know that, right?” Sam repeated slowly.

“I guess I— I don’t give myself enough credit, do I?” Castiel said nervously.

Sam looked happy with these words, his frown lightening.

Castiel continued with more confidence then, “I figured that if I could take on the havoc which Lucifer placed on your soul, I was more than capable of taking on some of the — feelings which seemed to be clouding up around Dean and redirect them into my grace so I could assist him as well but—”  
Sam’s face changed as he explained the trade-off to him, becoming rather exasperated again.

“I wasn’t expecting to struggle with them as much as I have.” He finished.

Sam sighed, and ran a palm over his face.

Cas looked away, well aware that whatever Sam was going to say would likely be a reprimand for invading Dean’s personal thoughts.

“Cas, you know that doing that— what you’re doing— it's basically self-harm?” Sam asked carefully.

Castiel tilted his head, “What?”

“I will be the first to thank you for being willing to take on suffering. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't, but if you're purposely taking on pain for yourself still? Especially when it’s unnecessary? That’s a little fucked up, dude. Not to mention, what would Dean say if he found out?” Sam looked worried.

Cas was floored, he hadn’t expected concern out of Sam. He supposed that he had underestimated the trouble which the whole situation had caused. And he hadn’t thought of it as self-harm either. He knew how torn up he had felt to find out that Dean had hurt himself, even if it was just punching a mirror out of anger or getting himself roughed up in a fight. It was less the thought that Dean was physically hurt, even, and more so that Dean was in a mental place where he was not bothered to cause himself pain. It did not sit well with him to think of how his loved ones would respond to learning that Cas had hurt himself, especially on purpose.

“I— you’re right, Sam,” Cas’ quick response surprised even himself, “I hadn’t even thought of that. Of course, I don’t think it is unnecessary for me to assist Dean in relieving some of the guilt he has been feeling. I think perhaps it is even what I deserve.”

Sam continued to look worried, eyeing Cas carefully, “You don’t deserve to hurt Cas. Neither does Dean.”

Cas paused on that. 

“Seriously,” Sam continued, looking certain, “the two of you stay thinking you need to pay for the things you have done, but you already have. Don’t you think the grief and shit we’ve been through is punishment enough?”

Cas doesn’t respond.

“In fact, of almost anyone I know, you and Dean both are deserving of more good in your lives. It’s a shame the two of you can’t see that.”

Cas was mostly trying to understand when he and Dean became a single unit in Sam’s head. He supposed that it makes sense, Sam knew the both of them better than anyone else.

“I understand what you are saying Sam. I am certainly aware that Dean is… unusually hard on himself, but I suppose I have never thought that I was as well. It is rather hypocritical of me to be concerned with his feelings when I have been rather irresponsible with my own.” Cas told Sam.

“Is that what you need to talk to him about? Are you going to tell him what you did?” Sam asked, shoving his plate further aside to rest his elbows on the table.

“Partly, and I intend to at some point,” Cas responded hesitantly, still trying to gather his thoughts, “But, I was more so concerned about the contents of Dean’s feelings.”

Sam hummed, looking at Cas expectantly. Cas’ heart fluttered, was he going to tell Sam what he thought he knew? Was he truly ready to face the music?

Really, what was the worst that happened? Cas had known that his feelings for Dean Winchester went beyond his feelings for any other human being from the moment he laid eyes on him. Of course, he hadn’t equated these feelings for human love until much later. As an angel, Dean’s soul was the most intriguing thing he had ever encountered. Almost magnetic, and apparently only to Castiel. Other angels had frowned upon the obsession that Cas developed. In hindsight, Cas understood why Dean and Sam had been directly avoiding following the apocalypse plan intended by God for humanity. That didn’t bode well for any of the heavenly hosts. After running from heaven however, and spending some time as a human, Castiel was almost embarrassed to recognize how much he loved Dean. He was blind to all other joys when Dean was in the room. He was careless with his actions, with his desires. There was something about being in proximity with the righteous man’s soul that made Castiel utterly weak in the knees. That was undoubtedly the reason that Cas was aching to clear up the muck too: there was really nothing like being able to bask in the light of Dean’s soul without anything between them. 

Cas is embarrassed to think that his frequent masturbatory fantasy is what he imagines Dean’s soul would look like as Cas brings him to orgasm. 

Castiel thinks about this more than he cares to admit: pinning Dean against the wall, spitting into his hand and wrapping it around the both of them until Dean can’t open his mouth to sass at Cas.

Slowly, so maddeningly gently opening Dean up with his grace and his fingertips and then fucking into Dean without an ounce of self-control. Reducing Dean to a point where he cannot speak. Taking his time to appreciate how Dean’s soul would flutter under the pleasure and under the praise that Cas would undoubtedly give.

Every fantasy was doused in Castiel’s endless strings of praise for Dean, and in his mind, Dean just took it. Let the words wash over him and let out little whimpers. In Castiel’s deepest desires, Dean knew what he was worth, knew how much he was loved.

And really, what would come of Sam’s awareness of this (of everything but Cas’ desire to fornicate with Sam’s brother)? It was not as though they were grade-schoolers with a crush. 

“Sam, I am afraid I haven’t been very… forthcoming with Dean. It hurts me, deeply, to understand that some of the guilt, the blame, revolves around disappointing me. I need to explain to him what he means to me,” Cas took a deep breath, trying to tell himself that it was going to be okay, that Sam would understand, “Sam, I— I love Dean.”

“Me too,” Sam responded, nodding in agreement.

Cas froze, then tried again, “No Sam, I am— I’m in love with Dean.”

Sam stared at him.

Cas stared back, determined. There was nothing Sam could say, no uncertainties, no frustrations that could change his mind. Even if Sam swore up and down that Dean would never love Castiel in the same way, Cas could continue to exist like that. It would be worth it just to have Dean know that Cas cared about him. 

Although, Cas wondered if perhaps Dean wouldn’t take this so lightly. Perhaps with years of female lovers, years of John Winchester’s opinions, and numerous heartbreaks, Dean would be unwilling to even consider Cas. Perhaps what Sam believed Castiel deserved didn’t quite reach as far as to his brother and —

Sam burst out laughing.

Full belly laughter, with tears welling, and the laugh lines next to his eyes scrunching in time with his nose. Sam laughed like he hadn’t laughed in years.

“Cas, I know. I think maybe I have known longer than you have.” Sam finally said.

“You knew? That I loved Dean?” Castiel asked, relaxing in his chair, even letting himself smile a little bit. Sam knew.

“Forever. I think because I know you so well,” Sam told him.

“I didn’t exactly try to hide it either,” Cas told him, letting his smile widen.

“I’m glad you didn’t. I think Dean deserves to be loved by someone who isn’t afraid to love him,” Sam told Cas.

Cas’ heartfelt considerably lighter, why hadn’t he thought of doing this ages ago? Sam was right, Dean deserved the love that Castiel had to give, and Cas was not the only one who saw that.

“So that’s why he’s been happier lately. Are you going to tell him?” Sam asked, grabbing back his plate of healthiness and shoving a bite into his mouth. 

“I think, perhaps, it would be less effective to just tell him. Maybe I will inform him of what I have done, and then try to quell some of his worries. I am afraid of, I don’t know… scaring him off,” Castiel confided.

“I can understand why, Dean has never been great with talking about his feelings,” Sam agreed, “I think that’s a good idea Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas said, getting up to leave the table.

“Make sure he’s listening,” Sam advised him, as Castiel left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my very hardest to stick with Castiel the whole story, but the ability to understand Dean Winchester’s incredibly frustrating inner monologue and work towards Dean opening up HAS to be done by getting a look under Dean’s hood. I apologize, I really do feel like switching between them destroys some credibility of the narrative, may it rest in peace.
> 
> But it's not like this is an academic work so who really gives a fuck! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (My number one kink is Dean Winchester crying, and my number two is any of Team Free Will taking off their shoes in the bunker. )

Castiel could not decide when to bring this up to Dean. 

Once Dean returned, over the next few weeks, there was a lull in hunts. With Dean’s newly refreshed spiritual persona, they spent most of their waking hours having an honest to god good time.

Dean convinced Sam that the new Star Wars movie was worth seeing in theaters. Castiel sat in a foamy theater seat and accidentally touched Dean’s hand in the popcorn bucket like a teenage girl. Dean just passed the bucket to Cas and grabbed the hot tamales out of Sam’s hands instead.

After the movie, Dean complained that Sam picked a stupid movie and that it was a waste of two hours and “beer money”.

“You asked to see that movie, Dean!” Sam complained but hopped in the backseat so Cas and Dean could sit next to each other on the way home.

Dean sang in the kitchen to the radio. Sam joined in too. Castiel discovered he was painfully tone-deaf. They laughed at his expense. Cas didn’t regret taking on Dean’s pain for even a moment.

Dean fell asleep to the Beach Boys while Castiel was in the local Target shopping for some new clothes. When Cas came out to the Impala, Dean was snoring a little bit. Cas got into the passenger seat and watched the rise and fall of his chest with rapt attention, before he slammed the door just hard enough that the vibrations shook Dean awake. 

Dean apologized for falling asleep and adorably wiped the drool from his chin. He rolled his eyes at the ties which Castiel chose, but agreed that Cas needed a few new ones.

And then, like anything in Castiel’s rollercoaster of an existence, the perfect opportunity took him by surprise.

Sam came out of his room with red-rimmed eyes. His hands were shaking and his shoulders slumped with what appeared to be defeat. Dean was on him like a moth to flame, asking what was wrong and letting out a long sigh when Sam gave him the puppy eyes.

Apparently the conversation with Eileen hadn’t gone as planned. Instead of Sam’s intended, “I like you, but this relationship is too dangerous for both of us”, it had gone down more like “I am in love with you, and I am willing to put everything on the line to even consider an ‘us”. 

This alternative scared the hell out of Sam, even after the gentle pushes which Cas had been trying to give.

Dean followed him as far as the bunker’s front staircase. Cas could hear Dean reasoning with Sam, and Sam responding in a flat voice, sounding utterly in-love, confused, and helpless. Cas supposed he could relate. Eventually, their voices lowered, and after about twenty minutes, Cas heard the door to the bunker swing shut.

Dean walked slowly back into the Bunker’s kitchen, where Cas stood, still finishing up drying the dishes from dinner. It had been Dean’s night to cook, and Cas’ night for dishes, leaving Sam some alone time.

Castiel looked up at Dean, eyebrows set in a question.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, “He’s just upset.”

Castiel nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean as he continued to dry the cup he was holding. He left the silence open so Dean could elaborate.

“I wish he could see how lucky he is. Eileen is practically proposing that they live like married hunters, but all Sam seems to hear is that Eileen has a death wish.” Dean said.

“I think he’s afraid Dean. No matter how lucky he is, I cannot blame him for that,” Cas responded.

“I know, I don’t think I can either,” Dean agreed, picking up his already half-drunk beer, “I just wish that he was more open to taking things for himself.”

Cas had to mull over those words. This was a rare opportunity where Dean has decided to present some vulnerability, even in the simplest way. Dean’s wishes for Sam, the knowledge that he was aware of how Sam was feeling, wasn't something he would speak about with just anyone. 

“What do you mean?” Cas decided to play dumb, perhaps because he was scared to take the plunge, or because he wanted to give Dean an out.

But instead of making a joke, Dean actually elaborated, “Sammy is always so unwilling to let himself move away from hunting now. When he was younger he drove me up a wall, always complaining about having to clean the guns, or trying to take a break from researching to do math problems.”

Castiel didn’t have to work hard to imagine Sam Winchester flipping between a leather-bound lore book and a worksheet of times-tables. 

“He was always so ready to live a normal life. It sucks that he feels like he can’t have that anymore. Like all the fight is gone outta him,” Dean took a swig of his beer.

“Perhaps he considers this to be a better alternative,” Cas suggested.

“What, sitting around in an underground war bunker with me?” Dean joked, but the laugh didn’t reach his eyes.

Castiel made a decision, “Yes Dean. Maybe Sam has decided that the normal he wants is his family, who understands him and protects him.”

Dean made eye contact with Cas, his mouth agape. 

Cas liked that Dean didn’t know how to respond, so he pushed on, “I think we do not give ourselves enough credit for the good thing which we have going here. We have a normal life, as normal as we can get for being who we are with what we do. Sam would be foolish to look at trading it blindly. You and I are important to him.”

Cas wondered when he started referring to him and Dean as a “we” as well.

“But don’t you— I don’t know— ever think about more?” Dean asked suddenly.

“Not really,” Cas said, and he prided himself in how decided he sounded. And he wasn't lying. He really did want this, Dean smiling and drinking beer and suggesting they go see a movie or make dinner, “Do you?”

Dean stilled in his chair.

Cas crossed the room to sit across from Dean at the table. The move brought them much closer together, and while the proximity was at first uncomfortable, it settled quickly into a welcome change quickly for both of them. Dean unconsciously stretched out his legs so they rested between Castiel’s.

“I guess, yeah,” He said quietly.

Cas studied him. He remembered his frustration with himself about not paying close attention to Dean’s signals and what Sam said about listening, and wonders if perhaps he hadn’t been listening very closely to Dean all along.

“What do you want?” Castiel asked him. He made certain to keep his tone level, showing Dean that this was a serious question, that Dean didn’t need to fear to answer it honestly.

And maybe, because Dean had been doing so much better mentally, instead of deflecting, he chuckled.

“That’s the part I have trouble with, Buddy,” He told Castiel.

And maybe, because Dean had been doing so much better mentally, Castiel decided to try to get this thing off his chest.

“Listen… Dean. I have been meaning to speak with you about something,” Cas told him.

“Yeah?” Dean’s reply was almost breathless, and he took another gulp of beer.

“I need you to really listen. Because I know this is going to be upsetting and I cannot fathom what you will think if I do not finish the story to its completion,” Cas told him.

Dean’s soul automatically clouded, and Castiel winced. He could imagine what Dean was thinking. The concern, the fear for his friend, and for his own heart. Dean had been fucked over, been screwed with too many times for a conversation like that to ever result in something positive.

Cas hurried to tell him, “Everything is alright, I promise. I just want to be certain that there is no miscommunication.”

Dean nodded nervously, looking like he would do anything to leave the room.

“Last month, after that one Clown hunt in Indiana, if you recall, I healed your side,” Castiel began.

“I remember.”

“Well, at the same time, I chose to— well I— I decided to clear up some of the cloudiness in your head,” Cas spit it out. 

Dean had the decency to look confused.

“When I took on Lucifer for Sam last year, I figured out that I could assume all of the thoughts and feelings and doubts in his head as my own.”

“I thought that your grace burnt those up?” Dean said, shaking his head with confusion in his eyes.

Cas frowned and spoke slowly, “No, I could feel them. I could see them. That is why I was as you say, “out of commission” for a few months afterward.”

Dean's expression was enough to make Cas want to clear up his aura again.

“Cas, fuck, I had no idea that you actually had to go through that shit. I thought you just— I don’t know what I thought exactly, but not that.” Dean was upset. Cas could hear the doubts in Dean’s head now. He remembered how Dean regretted just leaving Cas there. How he ached to apologize, how he often thought back to the fear in Cas’ eyes just after Cas took on Lucifer’s hallucinations from Sam. 

“It is alright Dean. I think it was something I had to do. Especially after all the hurt I caused,” Cas said.

Dean looked like he was going to speak again before Cas stopped him, “I decided to take a similar measure with some of the things that I could see were troubling you, and I wanted you to understand—“

Dean interrupted him this time, angry, “What do you mean, ‘things that were troubling me’, Cas, what did you do?”

Cas frowned, “All of it. Troubles Dean.” 

“Like what Cas? My fucking drinking problem? My fucked up hunts? Tell me, I can fucking handle it,” Dean gritted out.

Castiel could tell that this was going poorly, and he wondered if he should have stopped earlier. The thing was, he didn’t think that Dean could handle it. That's why he was walking on eggshells like that. Cas decided he was in too deep at that point.

He shook his head exasperatedly, “Your worries, ok? Your doubts, your guilt. Dean, all that loathing, that frustration.”

Dean blinked at that, trying to wrap his brain around it before he was standing up from his chair, obviously set on leaving the conversation behind.

“Dean—“ Cas started.

“I’m sorry, I just— I can’t hear any more of this,” Dean choked out.

Castiel stood and made a move towards him, “You promised! You promised you would listen,” He practically growled to Dean.

“No, you promised you would stay the fuck out of my head!” Dean retorted, backing away from Castiel.

“I was not in your head, Dean, I just took the fucking shit off of it,” Cas tried to tell him.

“It’s the same fucking thing! You should have fucking asked, you should have told me!” Dean was getting more pissed by the moment and Cas was watching as he closed in on himself.

“I couldn’t Dean, ok? I couldn’t,” Cas just wanted to explain. 

Dean was shaking his head and squirming like he desperately wanted to get away when he said “Fuck you Cas, I can’t handle the lies, you know I can’t.”

Cas could feel legitimate tears in his eyes as he watched Dean leave the room. 

Well. That could have gone better. 

-

To Cas’ credit, he honestly expected that conversation to blow up. He had now firmly established that he too, was a self-deprecating idiot, and had decided that that may be why he always expected the worst to come out of conversations like those. He found it humorous that his self-loathing seemed to have prepared him for it that time. 

However, without Sam there to talk it through with him, Cas felt rather uncertain about what to do next, and decidedly heartbroken about Dean. 

Cas supposed he often feels heartbroken about Dean. 

His first instinct was to leave. It was ingrained in Angels to want to leave when there was danger or uncertainty. They are taught to scatter when things go wrong-- to tuck their wings and hide to prevent damage. That was how Castiel knew to protect himself. But he also knew the sharp tug that his heartfelt when he worked through Dean’s feelings about being left. 

It wasn’t the disappointment that hurt the most either, it was the fact that Dean expected to be left behind. 

So Castiel stayed. He went to his bedroom and laid down on the bed and tried to meditate like he might at night. He tuned his frequency to what Dean continued to call “Angel Radio” and listened lightly to the sound of Enochian that fluttered across. 

He tuned into the prayers which people sent out into the open. He heard longing, he heard pain. But he also heard praise, and wonder and thankfulness. Too often he forgot that the trust in the divine was unlike any other. He wondered to himself vaguely if there would ever be anyone who he trusted like these humans, who laid their lives out for something they couldn't even be assured existed.

Castiel supposed he was lucky that he knew for certain God was out there, listening.

The distance from their conversation mentally seemed to do Castiel some good. After about a half an hour he felt his tangled heart start to loosen and his flight instinct begin to reside. 

He would not leave Dean. He could show Dean that he was in this for Dean. That Dean deserved people in his life who would not leave, who would offer him kindness and give him love unconditionally. 

It smacked Cas in the face that perhaps he was like those prayer-busy humans, giving love unconditionally to something he couldn’t even be sure really existed. He shook that thought away.

Castiel emerged into a quiet bunker. He sat at the War Table, in the second chair from left, the one next to Dean’s, the one he had come to consider his own. He opened a book titled Signals and Serifs - Getting the Spell Right the First Time. Cas had been surprised how much supernatural related lore books were continually published for the modern reader, but he supposed Sam had needed to go to Seattle’s occult bookstore’s website so he could order this one.

After about ten minutes, Cas was wrapped up in the execution of a sleeping spell and barely heard the shuffling of feet as someone passed through the hallway on their way to the kitchen. 

He raised his eyes to watch Dean. Dean looked up and noticed him.

Neither spoke a word. 

Dean registered that, yes, Castiel was still there, sitting at the war table and reading a book as if he couldn’t be winded by one fight. 

Castiel registered that, no, Dean did not look well, his eyes red-rimmed and his regular jean / laced shoes combo had been replaced by faded joggers and the vulnerability of bare feet. 

Dean proceeded into the kitchen and then back to his room with another beer. The silence remained.

-

An hour later, footsteps sounded down the Bunker’s stairs. Castiel looked up from his nearly finished book in surprise, “Sam?”

Sam descended the stairs with a bounce in his step that had definitely not been there when he left.

“Hey Cas,” Sam said, crossing the room with a smile.

This made Cas smile as well, “I take it things worked out with Eileen?”

“Weirdly… they did,” Sam said, moving to sit across from Castiel.

Cas set his book down, “What did you decide?”

“I can’t even believe it really happened,” Sam huffed out a laugh, “We just… put everything out there.”

“Good, Sam, I am so glad,” Cas hopes he can express how much he really cares about Sam’s happiness.

“She told me that she understood how afraid I was, and that it still wasn’t enough to scare her away. She reminded me that she has been hunting on her own forever, Cas. She’s grown up with the same uncertainties I have, she gets it,” Sam said.

“I am glad she understood where you stood Sam.”

“I am too, Cas. Honestly, it reminded me of the conversation we had the other day. I think you were right about us being more purposeful about what we deserve. Haven’t we all suffered long enough?”

Castiel nodded in agreement, “I am beginning to think so.”

Upon hearing voices, Dean had finally left his room and was making his way into the War Room, “Sammy?”

Sam looked over, “Dean.”

“What happened?” Dean asked, looking his brother up and down to be sure he was all in one piece. Dean must have decided that Sam looked well enough, because he continued forward to take his spot beside Castiel,

“Nothing bad Dean. We just talked about the future. I have kind of decided that I was being rash earlier. It doesn’t make sense to ignore what Eileen and I have just because I’m afraid. She’s what I want, and the fact that she fits into the life… well, that doesn’t hurt either,” Sam explained.

At this Dean grinned, “Hell yeah dude. She has been nothing but good for you.”

“I hope so. I think— well Cas and I had talked the other day about how we don’t give ourselves enough credit. For the things we deserve,” Sam explained. Dean glanced over at Cas, eyebrows pinched, and Cas had to look away.

Sam plowed onwards, “I really love Eileen. I could see myself doing research for hunts with her, but I could also, you know, see…” suddenly Sam’s face paled, “Oh shit.”

“What's wrong?” Dean asked, beating Castiel to it.

“... I think I might have asked Eileen to move in with us.”

There was a brief pause. 

After a moment Cas began to chuckle.

Dean was quick to join in, Cas figured he would be. No matter how angry Dean was with Cas, it was funny to see Sam so nervous. Sam started to unfreeze, a smile slowly spreading across his face until he too, was laughing.

Cas had to wipe away a tear, “Sam, I believe the bunker has the facilities to house another roommate.”

That made Dean chuckle, “She is welcome here anytime, for however long. Seriously Sammy, surely you know that.”

Sam’s laugh became a warm smile, “Thanks you guys. I am lucky I have the both of you.”

“As we are lucky to have you, Sam. And Eileen, for that matter,” Cas reassured Sam. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said, “I think what really made all the difference was that I hadn’t been listening. I got so caught up on now uncertain I felt that I couldn’t even hear what she was saying. I just let my mind fill in the gaps and I forgot that Eileen knows me better than anyone.”

Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes on him as Sam spoke and knew that Dean was connecting dots in Sam’s words too. Castiel knew he should meet Dean’s gaze, turn his eyes kind and reassure Dean that they are alright. Selfishly, Cas kept his stare fixed on Sam as he spoke. 

Dean should be aware that Sam is right. Dean hadn’t been listening, even when Cas had carefully warned him too. And Cas truly knew Dean better than anyone, just like Eileen knew Sam.

They head to bed not soon after. Sam was exhausted from a day of emotional conversation, and Dean was unwilling to spend any length of time alone with Cas. The wound was still too fresh.

Castiel settled into bed again to meditate and wondered, not for the first time if Dean truly felt the way Cas did about their relationship.

The sound of trustful prayers lulled Castiel away from his thoughts.

-

The next week was a transition period of having Eileen move in. She bit the bullet and decided to simply move into Sam’s room. The bed in Sam’s room was full-sized, so the two of them decided on Tuesday to take the 4 hour drive to Merriam, Kansas to go to IKEA. 

“Don’t forget the meatballs!” Dean shouted at them for the third time as they left. 

Eileen responded with a gesture that Cas supposed wasn't in the American Sign Language syntax, but would be understood by anyone, hearing or deaf.

It was the first extended period of time that Dean and Cas were left alone in the bunker together. Since their fight, they had slowly and unspokenly begun to work back to normal.

Cas still did Dean’s extra dishes and picked his socks up off the floor. He made certain Dean was aware that Cas was still willing to help with the groceries. Dean had started fixing Cas’ coffee for him again in the mornings. That morning, Dean had even done the little, rhythmic knock on Cas’ door to rouse him from his meditation when breakfast was ready.

So when the bunker’s door snicked close, Castiel felt confident that he and Dean would be okay for the next day of just the two of them.

Cas returned to his chore of looking over all the information he had been collecting. Since the apocalypse, Cas had begun working to sort through who of his brothers and sisters in heaven was left, and who was affiliated in alliance with who. The information made him feel as though he was still connecting with heaven, and had come in handy when a few hunter contacts of the Winchesters had a run-in with an angel.

Dean found him at the table in the library, approaching him with nervously shuffling feet.

“Cas?” Dean asked.

Cas looked up, observing Dean, his hand on his neck, and his voice uncertain.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Would you want to go out on a drive with me?” 

Castiel simply nodded.

-

Being with Dean in the Impala always made Castiel feel like anything was possible.

Kansas was flat, and Cas was reminded of the time Dean said he could “see for miles!” The breeze was cool as it rolled through the windows, but the air was warm with sunshine. The snow had finally all melted, and spring was threatening to light up Lebanon again.

Dean lit up Lebanon himself. He tapped the wheel of his car with the beat of whatever song he had put on — “Ted Nugent, Cas, the dude is a LEGEND” — and took the curves to the highway with sparkling eyes. 

Castiel had to stop himself from blurting out a declaration of love. Especially when Dean looked like that. Especially when he knew how much Dean doubted whether the people he loved really thought his music was good. As set in stone as Dean seemed about his taste in tunes, he did harbor some nerves about whether Sam and Cas were really cool with his cassette tapes all the time. 

It was just when Cas had finally relaxed into his seat, carelessly gazing at the curves that made up Dean’s face when Dean decided to drop a metaphorical bomb on him.

“Cas, I wanted to say somethin’,” Dean kept his attention on the road.

Cas sat up a little straighter, “Yes Dean?”

“I feel bad. About the way we left things last time we really... talked,” Dean began.

Cas watched him.

“I have been thinking about it a lot. I’m still not a fan of it, whatever emotion-mind-crap you pulled, but I get why you did it. I probably would have tried the same for you if I figured out I could vacuum up bad thoughts.”

Castiel thought to himself that Dean would have probably done it long before Cas did.

“And I know for sure I should have listened. I did promise you that, and I shouldn’t have left it like that,” Dean finished, making sure to never look at Cas.

Cas mulled what Dean had said over.

“You’re right, you should have listened, Dean,” Cas told him.

Cas watched as Dean winced, “I think I am ready to listen now,” Dean said quickly.

Cas could tell Dean was getting uncomfortable with his stare, so he returned his eyes to the road too. Suddenly it seemed like maybe this whole conversation could happen, right there, right then.

And so Cas began, “As I told you, Dean, I truly intended to take the troubles and try to give you some relief. I felt that it was the least I could do. It was mostly an easy process, I did want to respect your privacy as much as possible. I intended to keep myself impersonal and meditate the feelings away but,” Cas glanced at Dean, “I didn’t expect to have such a difficult time.”

Now Dean was looking at him side-eyed, which was a bit unnerving. Dean stayed silent. 

“There is a lot that has its focus on me. I am aware of your— distaste for discussing these sorts of things, but I feel I must impose this time.” 

Dean wasn’t looking anymore, he was pulling the car off the highway, looking less and less certain about his choice to bring this conversation back to the front. 

“Dean I know you are a man who shoulders the brunt of anything which comes your way. I know you have made mistakes in the time which I have known you, but frankly, the guilt which you walk around with is crippling.” Cas laid it on him. 

Dean pulled over the car. Apparently this couldn’t be done on the road. 

“I want you to understand some things about you and me. I cannot live with myself knowing that you feel some of the things I felt in your emotions,” Cas said. 

Dean wasn’t looking at him. Castiel honestly didn't blame him. He was a little surprised when he heard Dean speak, “Cas— I don’t know if I can hear this.”

They were quiet for a moment. 

“Why not?” Cas asked, genuinely curious. 

Dean’s breathing was coming quicker, “I’m not sure I just— I don’t think I can handle it.”

Castiel let that sink in. He watched Dean take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. 

“I intend to make all of these things clear to you someday, Dean. But for now, allow me to leave you with this,” Castiel turned his body so he was physically facing Dean. 

“You are more than deserving of the things you allow yourself, and not half as permissive as you should be about doing things for yourself. You are not any more responsible for ANY of the things which have happened to me than I am for them myself, Dean, look at me,” Dean was trying to look out the driver's window, away and into the concrete retaining wall they parked next to. 

Cas touched him then, feeling his own heart flutter. He pulled Dean’s chin roughly to face him. 

“You are a kind, generous and intelligent individual, Dean Winchester and I—“ 

“Cas,” Dean said hoarsely, cutting him off, his eyes closed, refusing to meet Cas’, even as Cas held his chin, “Don’t. I can’t. Please—“

“I love you,” Cas finished, resolutely. 

There was silence for a long time. Longer than Cas wanted. 

“I think you should go,” Dean said after the long moment. His eyes stayed squeezed shut, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

Castiel watched him warily, trying to read him.

In the end, the heartbreak won. Castiel’s eyes pooled with warmth and his stomach heaved like he was going to be sick, “Ok,” he uttered. 

And then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean scoffed to himself, running a hand through his hair.
> 
> Cas thought Dean was kind? And intelligent? Who the hell did Castiel have him confused with? Dean was a good for nothing womanizer with a GED, a give-them-hell attitude, and a death wish.  
> In a moment of clarity, Dean recognized that perhaps he wasn’t giving himself enough credit.

**Chapter 3**

Dean sat in that car until the sun had set. 

His head hurt. He wondered vaguely if Sam was back to the bunker yet. He wondered if that was where Cas had gone.

“I love you.”

Dean put his head in his hands.

“I love you.”

He punched the steering wheel. 

What right did Cas have? Who died and made Cas the sole interpreter of Dean’s emotions? Shouldn't Cas, after knowing Dean for YEARS, have realized that what he was doing was invasive and unthinkable?

And on top of that, to think that Dean had caused Cas even more pain? Dean had to take a deep breath and try to think of something else. That hurt too much. 

After a while, he turned on the radio. 

How? How could Castiel love him? Especially with all the shit that had gone down in the last year. Dean was still trying to forgive himself for the crap that he did, it was ridiculous that Cas wasn’t even phased. And all that crap about Dean being deserving?

Dean scoffed to himself, running a hand through his hair.

Cas thought Dean was kind? And intelligent? Who the hell did Castiel have him confused with? Dean was a good for nothing womanizer with a GED, a give-them-hell attitude, and a death wish.

In a moment of clarity, Dean recognized that perhaps he wasn’t giving himself enough credit.

Well. It was one thing for Dean to cut himself some slack, it was a whole fucking other for Cas to put that shit all out in the open. 

When the sun had set and Dean really had to pee, he begrudgingly put the Impala in drive and headed back to the bunker.

-

When he got home, he caught himself hoping that Castiel would be there. This thought was a little bit easier for Dean to deal with. Dean had been around long enough to recognize that his feelings for his ‘friend’ extended far past what they probably should have. The question was, when had Dean come to peace with that? 

He supposed he faced it on the daily.

He loved Cas when he quirked his brow in confusion, he loved Cas when he mistook spices, or when he had to question why the newest Star Wars movie wasn’t as good as the old ones. Dean was sure at this point that he loved Castiel, but had never really thought about confronting it. He most certainly hadn't been planning on confessing something like that afternoon in the Impala! Dean hadn’t expected his love to ever be voiced. 

And he couldn’t picture his life any other way. It wasn't like he was going to start wearing tight rainbow pants and watching Queer Eye obsessively. He had never even thought about— 

Dean caught himself as he realized that he _had_ imagined kissing Castiel. More than once. 

He had imagined kissing that righteous look off Castiel’s face the night they met. He imagined kissing Castiel goodmorning. He imagined those plush-chapped lips more than he cared to admit.

Dean huffed at this and parked the Impala, taking notice that the car Sam and Eileen had returned to the bunker’s garage.

He headed downstairs to find Sam and Eileen struggling to follow the directions to some sort of bed called a ‘Kvalfjord’. 

“Hey,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, “have you guys seen Cas?”

“Not yet,” Sam informed him, “but there are two bags of meatballs in the freezer!”

Dean supposed he would consider that one a win.

-

The week felt unbearably long. Dean cooked, researched, hung out, cleaned, and drank his coffee mostly alone. With Eileen around, Sam wasn’t even available to argue with most of the time. Dean supposed he had himself to blame for that.

When Sam had found out why Cas was missing in action (well, partially why. Dean wasn’t about to confess his undying love for a celestial being to his kid brother), he hadn't been particularly happy with Dean. Sam informed him the next day that he had spoken to Cas on the phone, and that Cas was well. Apparently, he had decided to pay Claire a visit and had been roped into spending time with all of the girls and Jody as well. Dean could tell Sam was angry because he only saved that particular bitchface for when Dean had really fucked up. 

It didn’t help that Dean _felt_ like he had really fucked up. Again.

He drank. More than he usually did too. He mostly was trying to get that little voice in the back of his head to shut up.

_People always leave you, Dean. And you know why? Because you force them to. There is no one to blame but yourself, you fuck up and drive them away every… single...time._

Dean was less convinced it was all his fault after another swig of whiskey

_Getting all girly over some dude, Dean. What are you, some kind of fairy?_

Dean was self-aware enough to recognize that this voice sounded like John Winchester.

_They’d be better off if you were dead. They’d be better off if you were gone._

Even Dean didn’t want to touch that one with a five-foot pole.

The next morning he dragged himself out of bed later than normal and tried to pretend that his head didn’t hurt.

His IKEA meatballs didn’t taste as good either because he and Cas had planned on making garlic mashed potatoes and their own jam to go with. He couldn't bring himself to do it alone.

The worst part was that he seriously had no idea how to fix any of it. 

So naturally, after a week of suffering, he went to Sam.

He caught Sam alone while he was doing push-ups, of all things. It looked like he had just finished his daily jog.

“Hey, Sammy. Where’s Eileen?” He asked, pausing at Sam and Eileen’s door.

“At the store. She said she wanted to get some stuff for an embroidery project,” Sam told him, pressing down.

“What the hell is embroidery?” Dean asked.

“It's like sewing Dean. Don’t knock it, I got her to put a couple of sigils on the inside of my flannel,” Sam shot Dean a look, but maintained his perfect push-up posture.

“Oh. Cool,” Dean stood awkwardly in the doorway.

Sam did a few more pushups before pausing and sitting up, “What’s up, dude?”

“I— geez, sorry this is fucking awkward. I was hoping to ask your advice on something?” Dean sort of asked, sort of said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh. Okay, sure well, come in then. Sit.”

Dean winced, but smiled, taking a seat in the chair across the room that Sam had referenced. 

“What’s going on Dean? Is this about Cas?” Sam questioned.

Dean sighed, “I guess.”

Sam paused, weighing his words before he spoke, “Why isn’t Cas here, Dean?”

Dean was silent for a moment. And then he bit the bullet, “I fucked up Sammy. Bad. We tried to talk and things got out of hand and I pushed him away again.”

Sam no longer looked angry, he just looked worried, “You guys talked?”

“Yeah. He had sorta been lying to me. He did like this weird emotional vacuum shit, and I got all pissed that he had been fucking around in my head. You know how he dealt with your Lucifer hallucinations?”

Sam nodded slowly.

“Yeah well, he decided to try and vacuum up all of my shitty emotions too and deal with them himself,” Dean informed Sam.

Dean was surprised to see that Sam didn’t look… all that astonished by this discovery.

“Can you really blame him, Dean? Wouldn’t you have done the same if you knew you could?” Sam asked him.

Dean frowned. He had to think about that one. He supposed he probably would have, if given the opportunity. Coming to Sam had been the right decision.

“I mean… I guess. But that's hardly an option for me, is it?” Dean barked.

“Dean, are you mad because Cas was ‘all up in your head’ or are you maybe mad because he had to deal with your “shitty emotions”?” Sam asked him point-blank, using air quotes.

“Both!” Dean said, hitting his hands against his thighs in frustration.

Sam hummed at that, thinking. They were both quiet for a while.

“I just… I don’t want Cas to have to put up with the shit I haven’t dealt with myself. He deserves better than that. He always has. The fact that he is even able to think about taking on my shit when I’ve put him through so much… so much Sammy.”

_That’s right Dean, let him see how much you’ve fucked up. He already knows you’re useless anyway._

Sam was looking at him as though he was a kicked puppy, “You know Cas has forgiven you for all of that, right?”

Dean didn't respond.

“Cas is mostly just worried about you being happy. You have been crazy better lately. We’ve been laying off the cases and you've just seemed… lighter. Cas was going insane watching you stew in all that shit, for real. We both were.” Sam told him.

Dean was stunned, “I’m fine, dude. Seriously, you guys do not need to be worried. I don’t know when this shit became such a big problem.” He huffed. 

“It’s not a problem Dean, and you're not fine. I know that, you know that. You haven’t been fine since Dad fucking handed you a shotgun and left you as bait when you were eleven. Hell maybe before that. I haven’t been fine either,” Sam said, finally getting frustrated as well.

“But that's just how it is, Sammy. That's just the shitty hand we were dealt, and we’ve made the best we could out of it,” Dean said earnestly.

“I know, we definitely have Dean. Believe me when I tell you I am lucky I had you through it all. But at some point, you've got to realize that you can’t shoulder it all yourself. You don't have to,” Sam pleaded with him.

_He doesn’t know, you have to tell him. You have to tell him what a shitty waste of space you are._

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do Sammy? Go cry on Cas’ shoulder and tell him about all the times Dad smacked me around a little? What the hell is that going to achieve?” Dean hissed, his eyes welling up a little.

Sam looked so sad, “No Dean, that's not what I meant. But I do think you should listen when he tells you that you deserve to be happy. Deserve to be loved.”

Dean realized then that Sam knew. 

Sam knew that Cas loved Dean, and hell, Sam had probably figured out that Dean loved Cas back. Sam knew that they were both gay for one another and Sam didn’t give a fuck.

Something about that snapped a final string in Dean, and he felt himself let a tear slide down his face. 

“Oh, Dean,” Sam said, crossing the room to where Dean sat, “Come here.”

No one would know if Dean let Sam hug him for a little while. 

“That’s the problem, Sam,” Dean said, his voice watery, “I keep not listening, and now I don’t know how to fix it.”

Sam pulled away as Dean vigorously wiped at his face.

“Maybe give him a little time, but be certain to show him you're still with him. And when he does come back, talk to him. Tell him the stuff that you normally feel like you wouldn’t,” Sam suggested.

Dean just nodded at that, looking downtrodden.

“And for the record Dean, if you ever want to talk about anything, Cas, Crowley, Hell… Dad,” Sam winced as he mentioned their father, “I’m all ears. You could also chat with someone who gets all of this shit and is certified to— talk.”

“Certified?”

“Yeah. Like a therapist. For PTSD, Depression and Anxiety, and things like that.”

“Sam, I’m pretty sure there isn’t a therapist in Lebanon who deals with Supernatural shit,” Dean shot him a face.

“For the record, I skype with my therapist every Thursday. It's called Telemental Health, Dean.” 

Dean felt a lot better after that conversation.

That night he sent a little prayer Cas’ way.

_“To Castiel, if he has his ears on: I’m still with you.”_

\--

Castiel didn’t come around until the next Tuesday when Sam called him for a case that he found in Ashland, Illinois.

He looked… good, Dean decided. Cas had put on one of his new ties and the light blue button-up he grabbed the day Dean fell asleep at Walmart. Dean couldn’t be blamed if he noticed how all of the blue made Cas’ eyes pop out at him. Damn, he had missed Cas.

After some questioning from Sam, they discovered that he really had been visiting the girls. Apparently Claire was combative as usual, but had agreed reluctantly to helping Cas with his angel organization. Jody had enlisted Cas’ help with dinner a few nights as well. 

“I remembered which was paprika this time,” Cas said sheepishly.

They packed up and hit the road a few hours later, Sam and Eileen settling in the backseat and signing back and forth. Cas got in the car last and sat next to Dean in the passenger seat. He still seemed uneasy, but Dean decided it was a win that Cas even agreed to get in the car. 

The drive to Ashland, Illinois was uneventful, and by the time they were rolling into town, Dean almost wished they could have had a case further away. There was something soothing about having Sam, Eileen and Cas all in the car.

Sam and Eileen took a room with a single queen, and Cas and Dean shared a room with two. Dean and Cas didn’t speak as they dropped their bags next to their respective beds.

Dean told Cas he was going to the local diner, The Crackpot Cafe, and Cas hummed, but didn’t look up from unpacking. Dean spent the whole evening thinking, picking at french fries and black coffee. When he finally came back to go to sleep, Cas was in his undershirt in bed, apparently meditating already.

-

Things did not get less awkward. The case was shit too, and Dean could feel it wearing on everyone. The victim was a 44-year-old mother named Lauren, who was found with her brain sucked out of a giant hole in the back of her head. The whole thing was a textbook wraith, and Sam was sure to pack lots of silver.

The shit part was that her daughter was taking it so hard. While Cas questioned Lauren’s husband, Joey, Dean became aware that their only child, a 16 year old named Annabell, was not doing too hot.

Annabell looked like she had been crying. She was in a giant hoodie, looking small and scared beneath it. Her eyes were… empty. It reminded Dean of when he became so resolved that he would consider doing something stupid.

That scared the fuck out of Dean, it always did. That was the hardest part of cases, seeing the victim’s family suffering, while Dean knew that he could have been there to prevent it. It was painful to see that expression on the face of a 16-year-old. Fuck, she was only a kid. He was going to need to keep an eye on her during all of this.

-

So when Eileen finally stabbed the damn Wraith in its slimy little chest, and Dean personally spit on the body before he burned it, he was in a very good mood.

While Sam, Eileen, and Cas went back to the motel, he was given the job to swing past Joey and Annabell’s home to let them know that they were safe from the Wraith. The door to their home swung open before he could even knock and Joey was inviting him in for a celebratory beer.

Annabell was in the kitchen when Dean arrived, humming and smiling and following a recipe for butterscotch bars that were in her mother’s handwriting. She smiled at Dean, and he could almost forget, for a moment, that he and Cas were barely speaking. It felt good that they had won, for once. 

“It's been ages since she’s been happy like this,” Joey said, settling across from Dean at the table in the other room.

“I’m glad she’s doing better now. The loss of a parent, that shit can overwhelm anyone,” Dean told him.

Joey takes a swig of his beer and shakes his head, “That's the thing, it's a damn miracle she's in there smiling. Anna has been depressed since she was in middle school.”

Dean stared at him, frowning, “She has?”

“Unfortunately. Her mom had seasonal, but Anna really had a hard time with it. I always try to do as much as I can, but sometimes… I can’t even tell what’s really going on, much less figure out how to help her.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, and he meant it, “I know how hard it can be to watch your loved ones fight their battles in their head.”

Joey just nodded, “It’s incredible that she’s even out of bed. God… after her attempt last month, and Lauren’s death, I thought there was no way—” Joey had to stop talking, it looked like thinking about it was causing him pain.

“Her attempt?” Dean asked, suddenly a cold feeling was dripping down his spine. 

“Jesus,” Joey said, running a hand across his face, “yeah. She tried to slit her wrists in the fucking basement shower. Her best friend called me because Anna had had a bad day and I checked on her just in time.”

Dean’s eyes must have been peeled wide because Joey pursed his lips and gestured back at the doorway to the kitchen, where Annabell was currently laughing at something on her phone while she waited for the oven to heat up.

“Like I said, it's a goddamn miracle. Almost like someone came along and sucked the sadness right out of her,” Joey mused.

 _“Almost like…”_ Dean thought to himself. The cold feeling in Dean’s spine spiked icy as he put two and two together.

“I have to go,” He choked out, leaving without even saying goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love you? That didn’t make any sense. No-- last time Cas had tried those words Dean had basically told him to get out. Dean didn’t, couldn’t mean love in the way that Castiel wanted love with Dean, he had made that abundantly clear.

Dean could not get the hotel card to swipe him into their room fast enough. The drive had been consumed with him calling Cas three consecutive times, and his mind whirling with worry.

His heart was threatening to make him pass out as he rushed into their room and towards the slightly ajar bathroom door that cast a stripe of light across the dark motel room.

He found Castiel bent over the toilet with his forehead resting on the seat, his hair tangled and stuck to him with sweat. 

“Cas,” he breathed, dropping to his knees beside Cas when Cas didn’t respond right away,

Dean put a tentative hand on his shoulder to try to rouse his angel.

Cas groaned and clenched his eyes closed.

“Oh Cas, buddy…” Dean began, taking in how weak Castiel looked hunched over.

Cas winced at the pet name and tried to shrug Dean’s hand off of his back, “Go ‘way.”

Dean shook his head, “No, neither of us are going anywhere.”

Cas groaned, “Dean, I really cannot deal with you right now, my body is trying to process—” Cas had to stop talking as he threw up again, “— I c-can’t handle having to think about all stuff with you right now,” Cas finished, panting.

“You shouldn't have to  _ handle _ it Cas, I’m so sorry, you were right,” Dean said in a rush. The words had been piling up behind a dam for days now. 

_ He was wrong Dean, you piece of shit. You can’t even protect your best friend.  _ Dean’s mind told him.

_ “Tell him the stuff that you normally feel like you wouldn’t”, _ Sam had told him.

Dean wiped some of the puke off Cas’ face with some toilet paper, “I don’t forgive myself nearly as quickly as I should,” Dean finished in a whisper.

Cas glanced up to meet his eyes, with a cautiously hopeful expression that could have easily devoured Dean’s heart.

“Jesus, you’re shaking,” Dean said after getting a good look at Cas’ face. He put a hand up to his forehead to feel him, “you’re freezing.”

Cas just put his forehead to the toilet seat warily as Dean went to the other room to grab the quilt off of one of the beds. 

As soon as Castiel was burritoed adorably in the blankets, sitting by the toilet in case he was sick again, Dean scouted out a bottle of water from the mini fridge and an extra towel that was hanging over the side of the desk chair. Cas had apparently had enough energy to take off his coat, tie and button up when he arrived back at the motel, leaving them on the desk.

When he returned, Cas’ eyes were bleary, almost unfocused, and he was using his arms on the toilet as a pillow in just his white undershirt and unzipped dress pants, sagging down to reveal a pair of his charcoal boxers.

“Still feeling pukey?” Dean asked.

Cas shook his head no, wincing at the movement and squinting his eyes. 

“Headache?” Dean asked. 

Cas hummed in agreement. 

Dean shot Sam as text, asking if he had any Motrin. 

“yeah u can come get it. are you good?” Sam responded. 

“in a minute” Dean texted back. 

Dean eventually convinced Cas to let him help him over to the bed, wrapping his arm around Cas the best he could with the blanket burrito, and trying not to let his heart pound when Cas put most of his weight on Dean as they walked. 

Dean helped settle Cas into the blankets on Dean’s bed, which happened to be closer to the bathroom. 

“I’m gonna run and get some stuff for your head from Sam. You feelin’ hungry?” Dean asked.

Cas didn’t respond, which made Dean nervous.

“Cas? Hungry?”

His eyes fluttered a little and he finally shook his head no.

“Sleepy?” Dean tried again, settling closer to Cas.

“Hurts,” Cas choked out.

Dean winced at how wrecked Cas’ voice sounded. It wasn't often that Dean encountered his angel in so much pain that he was unable to speak.

Dean couldn't help himself, he wrapped his arms around Cas’ neck, and pressed his face to his hair. Cas was trembling in his grasp, which only made Dean hold on tighter. Cas let out a little sound of pain that shattered Dean’s heart. Here was an angel of the lord, all stately and strong and rebellious— shriveled up in pain from doing the most selfless thing Dean could think of. 

“Cas,” he huffed, “you’ve gotta stop doing this.”

Cas shook his head against Dean’s chest, trying to even out his breaths.

A knock sounded at the door, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Cas when he softly said, “Come in.”

Sam opened the door with a worried expression on his face, his eyes landing on Dean and Cas with relief, and then concern all over again. 

He came around to the bed where they were sitting partially upright and handed the Motrin to Dean, “What happened?”

Dean stroked his free hand through the short hairs at the back of Cas’ neck carefully, “He decided to take his sadness vacuum for a spin with Annabell,” Dean explained. 

Sam, to Dean’s surprise, looked more pissed than worried, “Cas,” he growled out, “we fucking talked about this.”

“You did?” Dean asked, dumbfounded. 

Cas winced at the words, “Sorry,” he gasped out, “I’ll b—be ok by t-tomorrow, I promise,” he choked out. Dean tightened his grip, setting the bottle of pills aside to get a hand to rub down Cas’s back to provide some comfort. 

Sam softened with Cas’ words, “I know you will. That doesn’t make what you’re doing ok though, Cas. You have to know that.”

“I do.” Cas whispered. 

“How do you think it makes me feel? How about Dean?” Sam said gently. 

Dean’s eyes snapped up to Sam’s face, his eyebrows pulling together. 

“I know Sam,” Cas said gruffly, “and I know Dean doesn’t like it when I go in— in peoples heads.”

Dean’s gaze returned to Cas in surprise, that was not why Dean was upset at all— Cas couldn’t really think that, right? 

_ Tell him the stuff you normally wouldn’t.  _

Dean often forgot that he wasn't the only one who misconstrued the way others felt. Sometimes, he and Cas could be more alike than he knew

“No Cas— you’ve got to understand man, I’m not upset with you because you went in her head,” Dean told him quickly. 

Cas got still in his arms, “You’re upset with me?” He whispered. 

Dean groaned, he  _ so _ wasn’t good at this, “No, I mean-- yes. I mean,” Dean looked up at Sam for help, panicking. 

“I sorta think he has a right to be pissed, Cas,” Sam said, “Wouldn't you be if Dean had tried to take on someone’s grief?”

“And her clinical depression,” Dean informed Sam. Cas continued to hide in Dean’s chest, he seemed a little sheepish at Dean’s willingness to lay it all out for Sam to understand.

“Listen, I might be a little upset, yeah, but I’m more just worried about you. I am upset because you’re in pain,” Dean said to Cas, almost speaking into his hair. 

A little sob escaped Cas that alarmed Dean more than he could admit. Everyone was grateful that they couldn’t see Cas’ face at that moment. 

“Oh Cas,” Sam said, grabbing for the water and Motrin and getting some pills out. 

“I know buddy, I know,” Dean soothed as he ran his fingers through Cas’ hair. 

Sam eventually got Cas to take some pills with a bottle of water, and Dean got him out of the unzipped dress pants and tucked securely into the hotel bed with Dean next to him, pressed side to side. 

Sam checked in with Dean, whispering a goodnight after Cas had begun to drift, then headed for the door. 

“Take care of yourself, okay Dean?” Sam whispered, before heading back to Eileen. 

_ I am, Sammy,  _ Dean thought to himself as he let himself relax to the feeling of Cas against him. 

\---

Castiel woke before Dean did. He felt one hundred times better in the morning than he had the night prior, probably thanks to all the water Dean and Sam had forced on him, and those little orange pain killers that he had taken 6 of. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton and his muscles ached a little, but besides that, he was feeling quite well. Much better than he deserved. 

A sick part of him twisted when he recognized the loss he felt in regards to no longer being in pain. At least when he was suffering, he was paying for his mistakes.

He and Dean were in the same bed, lying so they were face to face, breathing in each other's air with their knees resting together and their fingers touching where their hands lay between them. 

Dean was so beautiful when he slept, his eyelashes splaying down his cheeks in a way that made Castiel’s heart squeeze with fondness. Dean’s face was relaxed in a way that it didn’t when they were awake, all baby-soft and vulnerable, like a Dean that had never had to deal with God’s plan or hell or John Winchester’s alcoholic behavior. Cas wanted to kiss Dean’s lips, suck bruises on his neck, breathe praises into his ear and feel those eyelashes fluttering against his skin when Dean was moments away from an orgasm. 

Cas had to shake his head to clear it from its spiraling ideas. 

Dean didn’t feel that way about him. Yes, Dean cared about his well being, but Dean wasn’t interested in Cas’ love, much less his unchecked virgin lust. Dean was  _ uncomfortable _ with Cas’ love too— that was the hard part. Watching Dean’s discomfort that day when Cas had finally told him, “I love you”. 

_ “I think you should go,”  _ Dean had said, and Cas swore he had never felt more utter pain and disgust for himself in that moment. 

Stupid— to think that Dean Winchester, to think the righteous man would want  _ anything  _ to do with you, Castiel. 

Castiel  _ deserved  _ the pain he had been in— it didn’t matter what Sam and Dean thought of it, it was his atonement, the only thing he could do to make a dent in the suffering he had caused. He just needed to be more careful so Sam and Dean wouldn’t notice.

It wasn’t as though he couldn’t survive it. Sam and Dean weren’t angels, they couldn’t understand what it meant to be unable to help people. They couldn’t understand that Castiel  _ needed  _ this. Like Dean needed a drink.

Dean blinked into awareness fifteen minutes later, his eyes bleary with sleep. He met Cas’ gaze and yawned, “Goodmorning.”

Cas hummed, watching him. Keeping his distance. 

“I guess we should talk, huh,” Dean said. 

“If you want to,” Cas said evenly. 

“‘Course I want to. Think we need to after yesterday, too,” Dean said gruffly. 

Cas nodded, sitting up to create distance between the two of them.

Dean watched him, looking uncomfortable in a way that made Castiel’s heart tighten in his chest. Cas didn't like that it was him who caused it.

“Listen, Cas, you can’t keep doing that, and I’m being dead serious,” Dean finally said after a moment.

“Of course,” Castiel responded robotically, his throat a little hoarse from yesterday.

“It’s not worth it, you barely knew that girl or her mom or what she was dealing with,” Dean scolded.

“Dean, it is truly fine, I could see it in her soul. I am an angel of the lord, I can handle human emotions,” Cas tried to keep his voice level, but in the process it came out stiff.

“But you don’t  _ need _ to, right? That’s not your job, Cas,” Dean countered.

“In a way, it is.”

“The hell it is!” Dean was becoming exasperated. 

“Angels are in charge of answering the prayers and sufferings of humanity,” Cas informed him.

“But you ain’t a pawn in Heaven’s game anymore! You don’t need to keep doing the host’s chores,” Dean emphasized.

“Dean, I really do not see how this is any different than you and Sam choosing to go on hunts,” Cas told him tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

“Who was throwing up over the toilet last night?” Dean asked.

“Last month you broke three ribs while fighting a werewolf,” Cas deadpanned.

“I’m fine now, ain’t I?” Dean shot back.

“Because I healed you with my grace.”

Dean stared at him, his eyes burning. Cas met his gaze stoically. This wasn’t something which Cas intended to budge on, whether Dean could handle it or not.

Dean finally took a deep breath and slumped against the pillows on the bed, “Yeah,” he agreed, “I guess you did.”

Cas tried his very best not to squirm.

“Dean, I understand it makes you… uncomfortable when I am in other people’s heads, and when I am hurt. I know that I am valuable to you and Sam and that you wish me to be in the best shape when we are hunting. I do intend to be careful when I take things like this on.”

“I’m really doing a shit job at this conversation, to be honest with you,” Dean told him.

“I do not understand.”

“Cas, I really don’t give a fuck what your duty is-- or what heaven thinks it should be. I couldn’t really care less if you’re useful, and I already told you last night, it’s honestly not a big deal if you're in people’s heads when we’re working cases. Sometimes it actually helps,” Dean  informed him.

“Then why are you so upset!” Cas exclaimed.

“-- Because I care about you, ok? I love you and it's impossible to watch you hurting. Especially when it’s because of my stupid shit,” Dean’s words rushed out with one breath.

Cas stared blankly at him, his mouth suddenly dry and his body frozen.

Love you? That didn’t make any sense. No-- last time Cas had tried those words Dean had basically told him to get out. Dean didn’t,  _ couldn’t  _ mean love in the way that Castiel wanted love with Dean, he had made that abundantly clear.

Suddenly Cas was back at his first reaction, anger rising in his chest. How dare Dean say that so  _ haphazardly _ after Castiel had put everything on the line with that confession just days ago? How could Dean not see how much those words had ripped Cas up inside-- worse than taking on any pain from any clinically depressed teenager.

Either Dean Winchester was an idiot, or he purposefully wanted to make Castiel’s life hellish.

Castiel opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the words for this one.

“Cas,” Dean croaked, “Say somethin’.”

Cas shook his head in disbelief, “I do not know what I would.”

Dean bit his lip suddenly looking very small, “I thought you would, you know,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “say it back.”

Cas’ anger boiled to his lips, “Say  _ what _ ?” he hissed.

Dean looked pale, “That you cared about me too,” he whispered.

Cas stood from the bed, his body protesting but allowing him to put even more space between the two of them, “You already know I do,” he said, his jaw tight.

“Yeah… but I just-- I thought you would be…” Dean was struggling, his gaze having shifted to his hands in the blankets in his lap.

“ _ Happy _ ?” Cas said shortly.

Dean tipped his head forward in a weak nod, glancing up to gauge Cas’ angry expression.

“Why Dean? Because you care for my well being? Because you need me to solve your cases and heal your ribs and live in the bunker? Because you are content to just-- love me like a brother while I am  _ in love with you _ ?” Cas could feel the words spilling out with no abandon, but he simply could not help it.

Well. He had come this far.

“That’s right, Dean Winchester. In. Love. I want to hold you and care for you and kiss you-- and it is  _ cruel  _ for you to pretend like that is something you want-- even to give me the slightest hope, because I know you know I feel this way!”

Dean was looking at him like he had grown a second head, and he was shifting to kneel on the bed, walking forward on his knees until he was standing up.

And then Dean was watching him in disbelief, crossing the room. It felt like it was happening so painfully slowly, and then all at once. Dean rushed up to him like the final motion of an angry wave and suddenly the space between them dissolved and they stood chest to chest.

Cas registered how warm Dean felt against him and how the freckles on his cheeks stood a little brighter against the backwash of his flushed skin. Suddenly-- Cas registered the foreign and soft feeling of Dean’s mouth just next to his, pressing a light kiss.

And then another against Cas’ lips, with Dean’s hands fisted in Cas’ white undershirt, his eyes closed while Cas’ were wide, wide open, his own hands flying to Dean’s shoulders.

Cas gasped as he registered what was  _ happening  _ and more importantly, what it meant.

His gasp gave Dean just enough leeway to part his lips and bit down gently on Cas’ bottom lip, making Cas’ body light up in ways he hadn’t been prepared for.

It felt like hell to interrupt, but the rushing in his head would not stop, so Cas forced Dean just far enough back that his lips dragged from between Dean’s teeth, and just close enough still that they were breathing the same air, eyes almost crossed to focus on eachother.

Cas opened his mouth to speak but hesitated long enough that Dean filled the gap for him:

“Yeah Cas. Love you. And uh. Definitely not like a brother.”

  
  



End file.
